Bruce
by Tipsy-Honeybee
Summary: His beloved hero stopped coming to his calls and it's unacceptable.


A.N. I love Batman but am very much still a novice when it comes to catching up/learning about the comics etc etc. I've got some comics, but the comic book section is overwhelming. I mean I'm like what-sixty or seventy years behind? Some ridiculous number like that.

Anyway I'd be lying to you if I said that the Joker and Batman's relationship wasn't the most interesting part for me. I'm taken aback because for an American based product it's really interesting to see how much DC seems to be ok with their 'love'. I guess you could insert a 'silly dumb fangirl' roll of the eye here.

Seriously though, all of this newer stuff that I've become aware of has just blown me away. What with Joker and his totally not so one sided obsession with bats. As far as Batman is concerned I get his feelings are geared differently but still obsessively. I'll admit though, my inner fangirl swoons every time their together cause I'm like "Just fuck already." Seriously just let them fuck DC just once...just once...

So here you go. My shot at fan fiction for these two because eh…fuck it…

* * *

The mutilated man was staring hard at his reflection. He accidentally caught it gleaming out of the corner of his eye. The cleaver that served as his weapon was turned slightly sideways in his grip. No matter what angle his reflection took the image remained the same.

The gruesome face that greeted him was a nightmare manifested into the real world. Altogether the picture was a kaleidoscope of colors; red, green, white, gray, yellow-It was a perfect picture of violence or 'sickness' depending on who was looking at it.

The red was from his exposed muscles. The mixture of white, gray and yellow were the colors of his rotting skin, although these days his flesh was more yellow almost brown in tone than it's once pristine white. His decaying flesh could only rot and rot it did.

He tore his own face off some time ago. It was necessary for the mutilated man. He was starting to remember things. A different life began to flash behind his coronaries at regular intervals. At first the images only appeared in his dreams.

But as time went on they started to haunt him in his waking hours. He didn't much care for the memories. The memories hurt. More than that they frightened him. The mutilated man thought that he had a grip on his emotions. He discovered that he was wrong about them after all.

Those feelings needed to be destroyed at all costs. He came to the conclusion that he must start all over again. So with deadly resolve he took a broken piece of jagged glass and cut his own face off. He was reborn once before. Now by his own hand he was reborn again. With every precise cut he effectively severed his ties with those vile emotions. He no longer had the visions. He no longer felt any pain.

He transcended.

He was now finally the monster that he was always meant to be.

Any traces of his humanity were eliminated that night. Despite his new level of awareness he somehow he ended up reuniting with his lost face. He supposed that it was because of his vanity more than anything else. After all, he just wasn't himself without a _smile_. He took back his preserved flesh that the police generously kept on ice for him. Even though he was reunited with his famous grin; it was hard to admit that it was getting harder to smile these days.

He was forced to smear the decaying flesh over his exposed facial muscles then hold it there with staples, wire and a leather strap that wrapped around the back of his head. His face was now nothing more than a grotesque mask. It was a horrific impersonation of what it once was.

But at the end of the day it was still his face and he happily embraced his new look. He would wear the mask until it completely disintegrated. He would figure out what to do for a face when the time came. The mutilated man tore his bizarre green eyes away from his weapon.

He ran a ghostly hand through his equally green hair. Sitting at a kitchen table before him was a family. There was a mommy, a daddy and a quiet infant. The couple seated just feet away were not restrained in their chairs yet they didn't move at all.

The child was a little boy. He was lying on the table. His body was spread on top of a large white platter. He was cut into portions. The head was severed as well as his arms and legs. His midsection was carved in half which revealed all of his tiny organs.

There was blood everywhere. The infant's corpse was piled in a congealing pool where it rested. The blood also saturated the table the platter was on. The mutilated man's hands didn't work like they used to. The platter was heavy. His arms were quivering the entire time he moved it to the table which caused it to spill.

He left behind a rich trail that led to the table from the countertop where the infant was carved. The child's fluids still oozed down the sides of the cabinetry. It was thick arterial blood so it was a dark burgundy color.

The couple who were seated at the table continued sitting motionless. They were staring at nothing in particular. They didn't even budge as the mutilated man picked up pieces of the dead child off the platter. There were plates that were meticulously set before them.

The mutilated man placed a leg on daddy's plate while mommy received an arm. He grabbed a pitcher full of orange juice off the table next. He carefully poured them each a drink. His wired grin never faltered even as he set the pitcher down and seated himself into an empty chair between the couple.

He leaned back in his seat. "Eat up, breakfast is the most important meal of the day you know. You should have some. I slaved away all morning to make it for you." The mutilated man's words didn't sound right as he spoke them.

He no longer had any lips so his words were a garbled mix of lisps and over-pronunciations. Mommy finally moved. She turned her head towards the mutilated man with glossy tears in her eyes.

She was a lovely woman with bright blue eyes and curly blonde hair; the modest nightgown she wore couldn't hide the blossoming figure underneath. She was sitting partially on the fabric so it pulled tight against her curves.

Her body didn't hold much interest for mutilated man. He wasn't here for any sexual empowerment. He never killed for something as trivial as that. Mommy's tears were silent ones. She was too shocked, to horrified, to over worked to scream.

Her brain was shutting down to protect itself from going mad but the mutilated man was the very representation of madness. Madness was one of the only consistent things in his entire life. He was quite happy to share his insanity with anyone he could.

He tried to share it many times over the years. A favorite time once involved a very obnoxious police officer. He shot the man's daughter (later on learning that he paralyzed her much to his delight) then took photos of her shamed body. Oh how wonderful it was to watch the officer's mind unravel as the mutilated man forced him to look at those pictures!

He pushed the bewildered father to his absolute limits that day. It almost worked too but then _he showed up_. He was, ironically, the reason for this new tryst. Part of this morbid breakfast was for a few laughs because well that's just how the mutilated man did things.

The deeper part was punishment. The time with the cop was for a point. He wanted to prove that he could break a man in _one bad day_. This time he wanted to destroy a family as punishment for his absence.

There was only one message that the mutilated man wanted to get across. He was pissed. No he was more than pissed; he was outright livid. Mommy's lips moved. The mutilated man was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear her speaking at first.

He pulled from his musings so he could listen to her. "Why?" she asked. "Why did you do this to us? What did we do to you?" The mutilated man grabbed his chair then scooted it closer so he was right next to mommy. With his free hand (the other still firmly wrapped around his weapon) he grabbed hers that were folded in her lap.

"Well it's funny really." He began. Mommy crinkled her nose. There was a distinct odor surrounding him. Her nostrils flared at the vile stench that invaded her at his closeness. He smelled like the time her husband threw away some chicken parts leaving the meat to sour in her garbage can.

It took days to get the smell out of her kitchen. His hot breath didn't help either. The exposed teeth in his sick head were all dingy yellow. His molars were actually closer to black in color. He didn't care for his teeth at all. His rank breath smelled like bile. It blended with the sour stench of his body.

She fought the urge to throw up. "Yeah its' _really funny_ actually. I didn't pick you out in particular. I just wanted to kill a family. I happened to see you two taking a walk with junior in the park yesterday. I thought about how lovely you both looked as a couple. You're both so young, so full of life, so radiant that I could see you had a very bright future. I might have been even a little jealous. Anyway, I just randomly picked you. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time I'm afraid."

He released her hands and stood up toppling his chair in the process. Mommy flinched. Daddy who was his new target didn't stand a chance. The mutilated man raised his cleaver. He ran over to daddy. The man barely had enough time to raise his arms up to try to defend himself.

The cleaver came down for his head. In just a matter of minutes' daddy's face disappeared right before the mutilated man's eyes. With every swing a little more of his face was destroyed. Soon enough Daddy no longer carried any distinctly recognizable features.

Most of his head caved in from the assault. What remained was a gaping hole with part of a tongue rolling inside. Daddy's corpse slid down the chair. The cleaver was lodged firmly in what was left of his face.

The mutilated man reached into his jacket. He produced a pistol. He turned back to mommy. He was truly a picture of gore now. Daddy's blood covered most of his upper body. It was soaking not only into his skin but also his dingy purple suit as well.

Mommy found her voice. She was screaming. Her husband's killer let the noise wash over him. He had no eyelids so he couldn't close his eyes. It didn't allow him to bask in the glorious noise properly but he came close. He learned to shut his mind off on command long ago.

He partially did that now so he could just enjoy the aftermath of a really satisfying kill. He needed this more than he realized. The thoughts were suddenly creeping up on him again. These thoughts were not the same ones that prompted him before.

These thoughts were even worse. Here he was so sure he erased all of his humanity and yet, still, there was this terrible thing that stayed with him after all. After a few minutes the mutilated man came back to reality.

He placed the gun on the table. He yelled over mommy to get her attention. Mommy was slumped over the table bawling. All the mutilated man could see was the back of her head moving to and fro.

Her hands were entangled in her hair. She managed to pull a good chunk of it out. The missing clump was still stuck in between her fingers as she continued to wail. She finally succumbed to her madness. For a brief moment the mutilated man wasn't alone.

It felt good. He was afflicted by an onslaught of loneliness. The loneliness was unbearable. The loneliness was what drove him to this point. "Listen to me!" he screamed. Mommy's wailing became softer. She was still blubbering. Her voice lowered enough so she could hear him.

"There's a gun on the table with a single bullet. It's up to you what you do with that bullet, you can kill yourself or not it's your choice. Whatever you do I suggest you do it quickly." He made his way over to the kitchen phone hanging on the wall by the doorway.

"I'm calling the police. They're going to be here soon. Now I've given you a choice. Whatever you do decide you have to wait until after you relay my message. If you don't give the cops my message I will kill the rest of your family. I will make it my life's goal to hunt down your parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, uncles, aunts-hell I'll even take any close friends. I will destroy them all. You know my word is good. Do you understand?"

Mommy raised her head. She didn't lift her body up so she observed him from a very funny angle. Her eyes carried a haunted look. She was barely comprehending his words. All he needed to see was a little coherency in her eyes. He saw the faint glimmer of understanding buried inside her. He knew his message would be relayed.

"When the cops come I want you to tell them this. Tell them that he better show up to stop me next time or I'm going to be forced to get _serious_. If he thought the lovely children of Gotham weren't safe now…OH HE IS SADLY MISTAKEN! I can become the boogeyman! It's not hard at all!" The mutilated man theatrically waved his hands around while he spoke.

He was getting even angrier just voicing his frustration. "You're talking about Batman." Mommy interrupted his speech. The mutilated man gasped. "How insightful. You're too smart for your own good mommy. That's the real punch line you know. If my sweet little bat would just finish what he started; people wouldn't have to die. Your family would be all cozy and safe right now."

The mutilated man lifted the phone receiver. He paused again before he dialed. "I have every right you know. How would you feel if the one you loved stopped coming to your calls? You'd be _mad_ right?" Where was this coming from? He didn't need to justify his reasons. Why did he feel so guilty? He was no longer human after all. Why did he care?

He started laughing then.

It bubbled from somewhere deep in his guts. His merriment started out small but grew with alarming intensity. It echoed all around the kitchen. It carried all the way through his phone call to the police. The operator who took the call listened to the laughter. He heard it several times before so he didn't ask any questions. He just dispatched the police to the residence.

The laughing didn't stop as the mutilated man quickly dipped his fingers in the blood that surrounded him. He drew crude outlines of bats with his nasty self-made paint. Mommy could still hear his laughter when the police came barreling though her front door.

She moved before they entered her kitchen. She placed the platter in her lap. The gun was pressed against her temple. She told them what happened. She also made sure to tell them her attacker's message.

The officers tried to coax her to put the gun down. She wouldn't put it down. This was her choice. The mutilated man was merciful enough to give her one. She knew what she had to do to ease her suffering. Life wasn't worth anything now.

She pulled the trigger. Mommy's brains exploded through the hole as the bullet exited her head. Her body fell sideways. The platter fell along with her. It shattered on the floor. The baby's head rolled across the tile towards an officer's foot.

The officer was fairly new at his job. He got violently ill. The other more seasoned force members didn't get sick, yet even the toughest officers had to take a break from the crime scene that day.

* * *

Dick watched the news unfold on Bruce's television. He was the one who originally informed the older man of what was going on. He was, after all, the one primarily filling in the gaps that Bruce's absence left. It was no longer his mentor prowling the streets at night.

It was Dick's assumed identity protecting the city now. He called himself Nightwing. He was once Bruce's sidekick back in the day. Back then he was called Robin. Those days were over now. Now he was an adult who could have very easily given up being a 'self-proclaimed hero'.

He found that he couldn't stop being Nightwing. Bruce planted something in him that would never fade. There was a sense of obligation which far succeeded his own needs. He was willing to fight and die for many people he would never meet.

He wouldn't turn his back to their plight. Somebody had to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. Dick realized a long time ago that Bruce would not live forever. He needed someone to carry out his rather impressive legacy.

Dick wasn't the only one that Bruce mentored. There were others. Somehow over the years they bonded with one another. Many people called them a 'family'. Dick agreed with those people. He did have quite the strange family indeed.

Together all of those that were a part of the 'family' kept the dream going. On his end, it was more for Dick on a personal level than just continuing one man's vision. He had his own merit to prove to the world. He wanted to elevate Bruce's ideas but also solidify his own identity as someone who made a difference.

It was a very tall order. He stole a quick glance over to Bruce. The man was sitting on the couch with a very grim look on his face. Dick could only guess what the man was feeling. At the current moment he guessed Bruce was angry. Why wouldn't he be? The news he was watching wasn't good at all.

"The message was a threat. If Batman doesn't make an appearance soon the Joker will be forced to 'get serious'. He'll become the boogeyman. He's going after all of Gotham's children." The reporter got quiet for a moment as she listened to something on her headset.

For just a split second her trained indifference faltered. She was a new girl who replaced the famous Vicky Vale. Vicky died several months ago in her sleep due to a brain aneurysm. It devastated the local news station. She was still very much their shining star despite her age.

The new girl, whose name Dick couldn't remember to save his life, still had a long way to go as far as controlling her emotions went. She would learn quickly enough. Gotham was a city of tragedy. It was, however, their home and Dick loved it very much.

Yet no matter how much he loved it; it didn't change how terrible most of the inhabitants were. Gotham carried a reputation the world over. Dick didn't know what it was about the city. It produced some of the most vicious criminals that ever walked the earth.

The man responsible for this grim morning was a man called Joker. He was by far the worst of the lot. He also happened to be Bruce's greatest foe. He was also Bruce's greatest failure. Everyone knew how Bruce lamented his decisions when it came to the psychopath. He blamed himself for the man's crimes.

Dick wasn't sure how to feel when it came to Joker. The man committed many atrocious acts. The solution that most people came up with was hope that Batman, Bruce's alter ego, would finally snap and kill him. His death would promptly end his horrifying reign over the city.

Bruce didn't kill him. Oh he entertained the idea numerous times but somehow he always managed not to sully his hands with the man's blood. Bruce didn't believe in killing. He outright refused it even though most of the city's criminals deserved to be executed.

Dick had a hard time sorting through his feelings because he could see both points of view. He decided that for him personally letting Bruce do what he wanted was the best course of action when it came to the cities criminals, especially Joker. Dick never killed anyone either. He couldn't wrap his mind around taking another life with his own hands.

It wasn't fair to hope that Bruce would do what he was too afraid to do himself. "I'm getting word right now that a child's body has just been." The reporter covered her mouth for a moment to hide her surprise. She snapped out of her shock seconds later. "A boy fell to his death downtown. There was a note left behind in the apartment where the boy presumably lived. It was a joke."

She paused to listen some more. "Batman, what do you call a sad bird? It's a blue bird." Bruce nearly leapt off of the couch. Dick rushed over to him when he saw his mentor rise. "I have to go Dick. This has gone too far. Children…I know he's killed children before but not like this. It's never been this personal. You know that joke was aimed at you right? It was a direct threat to you."

Dick knew already knew that. Nightwing's suit was primarily blue in color. There was also picture of a bird on his outfit. It was his one way of taking his old Robin identity and altering it to fit his adult needs. "We probably pissed him off all over again when I arrived at the crime scene this morning instead of you." Bruce reached for his cane that he was forced to use at times.

Dick touched Bruce's shoulder. Bruce smacked his hand away. Dick reached out again. He gave an affirmative squeeze on the older man's shoulder this time. He didn't want to argue with his mentor. He would if he was forced to though. Bruce was in no condition to fight. He was still recovering from his near fatal injury.

His wounds were what kept him from going out. Bruce fell victim to a gunfire . The bullet ricocheted off a wall striking him close to his spine. He was lucky it didn't kill him. He was also unlucky because the bullet was still inside of his body. It was so deep that trying to dislodge it could paralyze him or cause him to bleed out.

The doctors made it very clear that he was one accident away from tragedy. He was also going to be in pain for the rest of his life. Dick knew that Bruce would be dead in a matter of days if he went out as Batman. "Hold on Bruce. You can't. I'm sorry. Have you forgot about why you aren't out there right now? It's too dangerous he'll kill you!"

Bruce slapped his hand away a second time. After he did this his back seized on him. He was already having one hell of a bad day with his pain levels. The added stress along with the sudden movements weren't helping him at all.

He inhaled sharply as the dull ache changed form. It became an acute burning sensation that coursed down his entire back into both of his legs. He closed his eyes while gritting his teeth. His breathing became shallow. He was mentally trying to will his pain away.

The reporter's voice filled the silence that extended between the two men. "Is Batman dead? Did he leave? Why haven't we seen him in almost a year? There are countless rumors floating around but it seems nobody can come up with a clear answer. Commissioner Gordon claims he knows nothing despite his close affiliation with the hero. Nightwing seems to be filling in for the empty cowl the most. We've seen other members of the 'bat family' as they are so fondly called also out flying through the Gotham skyline. We've no luck in getting close enough to speak with any them. We can't get any definitive answers. All I can say is this, if Batman is watching we hope that he will come forward and end this senseless violence to our children."

Bruce managed to wrap his mind around his pain. He opened his ocean blue eyes. On his flat screen in all of his high definition glory was a picture of _him_. It was a photo of his most hated enemy. 'Joker' as he called himself was looking right into Bruce's eyes through his television.

How was it that a mere picture made Bruce feel like the man was actually in the room poking around in his mind? Bruce could have sworn for a second that the picture sprang to life. Joker jumped out of the television. He was in the living room. He figured out who Bruce really was.

He was grinning because this time he knew that one of them wasn't walking away from this final encounter. Bruce shook his head. The man was back behind his television screen where he belonged.

Joker was exactly the same as Bruce remembered him…almost. He still had his ridiculous lime green hair, his paper white skin, outstretched smile and he was just as emaciated as ever. The only real difference was that the man in the picture was more haggard.

Years ago that face was just as youthful as it was psychotic. The years were finally catching up to him. In the picture Joker's skin was starting to lose its elasticity. His face was pocket marked. There were large crows feet in the corners of his eyes along with permanent wrinkles on his forehead. His neck was ever so slightly beginning to sag. There were also several lacerations along his face besides his cheek scars. One in particular was running from his forehead to his upper lip.

The nasty eye scar came from Bruce. They were struggling with a knife that day. Bruce bent the psychopath's hand back a little too far. He accidentally caused the man to cut his own face. It didn't faze Joker one bit.

If anything it pleased the man to no end. He had no problems expressing how happy the scar made him. There were several occasions where he praised Bruce for his handiwork. One time he even tried to get Bruce to do it again.

Bruce wondered what he looked like now. He hadn't seen Joker in person for close to two years. The man escaped from Arkham Asylum almost immediately after the leering picture was taken. He vanished completely for one blissful year.

He only recently emerged back on the scene around six months ago. Bruce backtracked a bit in his memories. He remembered something very unpleasant. Joker cut his face off before he left that first year.

When the man resurfaced he came back for his face. He broke into the police department then stole the preserved flesh they were keeping. Bruce couldn't believe it when he heard about the man cutting his own face off. It was true. Bruce observed the skin with his own eyes.

He remembered that day because he remembered the cold chills that washed over his body. His enemy descended into a level of darkness that not even his alter ego Batman wanted to chase after. He remembered feeling like it was the beginning of the end for the pair.

Bruce also reminisced on the way the man started behaving before his terrible self-mutilation. Joker's attacks were getting increasingly violent those days. Some of his actions were even getting sloppy. Joker was never sloppy. He was chaotic but precise when it came to the destruction he caused.

There was definitely something shifting in him way before his dissipearance. Bruce knew that he was a contributing factor to the change. Joker started saying odd things that threw him for a new whirlwind of bullshit.

He started talking about the 'good old days' more often. He told Bruce in detail about their early encounters. He often told those stories many times before. His recent recollection of those stories were much more affectionate in tone this time around. He openly praised Batman. He took to calling him 'handsome' as a sort of pet name.

The final crack in Bruce's carefully placed shield was when he said he loved Batman. Bruce remembered physically drawing away from the man upon hearing those words. Love? Joker didn't love. He wasn't capable of such things. If you looked in the dictionary for the word sociopath Joker's ugly face would have been right next to the definition.

After he told Batman he loved him Joker started going purposefully out of his way to touch Bruce. He even started giving him little presents here and there. The presents were good or bad depending on Joker's mood. One time he produced a tiny stuffed plush bat. Bruce struck the offering out of the man's hand thoroughly rejecting the gift that day.

Joker didn't like his gifts being rejected. The next time they fought after that particular incident Joker offered him a real dead bat instead. The animal was in an advanced state of decay when Bruce received it.

Bruce realized then that Joker might have actually managed to trick himself into believing his own illogical mindset. He seemed to be genuinely hurt by Batman's blatant rejection. The crueler he was to Joker the grosser his gifts became as some form of passive aggressive retaliation.

Bruce didn't think for a second that it was real love the psychopath felt for him. He believed that Joker's obsession with him was based purely in false idolism. It was his fault the man was the way he was. He was the one who couldn't make it in time to stop him from falling into a vat of chemicals.

Joker always said that because of Batman he was reborn; that thinking was where Bruce believed the false idolism began. Bruce knew the man committed some of his horrible murders to honor Batman in a very ironic way.

He never considered Joker to view him as a potential lover. When his opinion changed it terrified him. Bruce knew how he treated his lovers. It was a fate that he considered worse than death. Harley, the man's longtime girlfriend, was proof on how terrible that fate could be. He destroyed the poor woman from the inside and out. Bruce sighed.

He was tired. He was a man with a very heavy heart. He sometimes wanted to let his death come. It would have been so much easier than continuing to shoulder the burdens he carried. He thought many nights about how wonderful it would be to reunite with his deceased parents and all the 'friends' he lost during his time as Batman.

He couldn't give up though. As long as he took breath there was no option to just roll over like that. He couldn't let Joker win. Nobody knew how to handle like him Bruce did. Bruce was the only one who understood him for the most part. He needed to stay so he could protect anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with the psychopath.

"Bruce are you ok? You look pale." Dick rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Bruce hardly ever displayed weakness in front of people. This was one of those rare moments that Dick was allowed to see every tiny emotion flit across the man's face.

It made him uncomfortable because he could do nothing for Bruce. If he tried to console him he would be chastised. If he remained quiet he would feel guilty. He genuinely was worried for his mentor. He cared deeply for the man.

Bruce was always different when it came to Joker. Dick knew about the freak's obsession with Batman. As the years wore on he began to vigorously express it. Dick would never say what he really thought aloud. He truly believed that Bruce tucked away a carefully hidden secret. He liked the attention. He might have even felt similar warped feelings.

Dick couldn't blame him. Joker had years to chip away at Bruce. The man was good at manipulating people. Bruce happened to be his favorite person to mess with. He always seemed to know what to say, when to say it and how to say things that crawled under Bruce's skin. How could his mentor not get his views twisted around with a constant barrage of garbage being thrown in his face?

Dick was thankful the man held on to his sensibilities. He wasn't worried about Bruce being charmed to the other side. Bruce experienced plenty of real affection in his life to keep him grounded. He clearly saw what real love was supposed to be like through his 'family'.

"Dick I have to go. He wants me. I've sat around doing close to nothing for almost an entire year. I've let you and the others handle things. You've all done a wonderful job so far. This is different Dick. You know why. Joker is capable of anything. He is more dangerous than all of the others combined. These new murders are my fault. I have to make it right. I have to stop this."

Dick tilted his head. "I understand what you're feeling. I really do. I've watched you struggle with him for a long time. You'll never listen to me when I say that this isn't your fault. Here's what I will say. Forget Batman for a second. I'm talking to Bruce. I understand that sacrificing yourself would be easy for you to do. You have to stop and think though. What would that really achieve? If you died and he didn't would that really make him stop?"

Bruce shrugged. "I don't know but I have to try something. These killings are only going to escalate until he gets his way." Dick fought the urge to grab the man. He wanted to shake him. "You can't give in to him. You're stronger than he is. You've trained us all well. We've fought him enough to know what he's capable of. We can take care of this. Let me take care of this."

Dick patted himself on the chest to emphasize his words. "If we have to we'll enlist everyone to help. I'll even reach out to 'outsiders' if I must. I'm sure Selina will help for example. If I really have to stretch it I'll call the Justice League. I'll get Superman out here." Bruce pursed his lips. "What? Don't look at me like that. I know you two are close friends. Bruce please, give us a chance to prove to you that we can do this. Besides what would Alfred say?"

Bruce almost backhanded the younger male in the face. He played that card every time they disagreed on something. He was getting sick of Alfred, his longtime stand in father being thrown in his face as ammunition. He knew if Alfred were still alive he'd be torn between support and worry.

He also knew that ultimately he would do whatever he could to protect Bruce. He more than likely would try to stop Bruce from throwing himself at Joker. It didn't mean that Dick had to use the man in fights to get the upper hand. Bruce grabbed his cane.

He hated using the damn thing. He tried not to use it as much as possible. The burning was still going on in his body though. It was starting to intensify again. He stepped forward. "Where are you going?" "I'm going to take some medicine then lie down. I'm not in the mood to argue. Go on. Go out there. Go look for him. Promise me you'll call me before you make a move. Dick I mean it, can you do that for me?"

Dick crossed his arms. He glared at the image on the television. Joker's face was replaced with footage of the downtown crime scene. Gordon was being interviewed. He wasn't really paying attention to what the old fellow was talking about.

Gordon was just reciting the same generic rehashed phrases to keep the general public calm. "I'm glad that you're finally listening to us. Thank you, it makes me feel a lot better." Bruce starting walking away while he motioned for the younger man to stop talking. "I'm glad one of us gets to feel better." He answered dryly.

* * *

Just so you know I totally think Joker ripping his own face off was incredibly badass. I've read a little of these new 52 thingamalings. I've read Death of the Family. I guess you could tell it was my biggest inspiration. *Hearts a flutter* Anyway I thought it'd be fun to write about a character whose face is literally rotting off. Imagine fucking that for a second.

Mmmmm delicious...(she said sarcastically) Seriously though Joker in the Death of the family is terrifying. His face looks like it belongs in all of the Japanese horror games especially the part where he fucks with the new Robin. Anyway like the comedian Ron White taught me "It's things that make you go Buhhh."


End file.
